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• Текст, перевод и аккорды “An Old Scab”

• I sit each morning, look at my empty notebook The room is quite, the air conditioning sounds like rain falling Manic-depressive composer Robert Schumann, When he could not write, would get down on his knees And he would pray for help It's not as bad as eating your own liver; But still, I'd like to think that there are better methods I try to tackle the page that lay before me But then I drift off, and think about the concept of Ben-Wah balls... I rouse myself and I finish washing dishes, Make lists of errands, make all my phone calls And then I pray for help But each time I try to make a fresh stab I end up just picking at an old scab

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